


Gourgeist Song

by millow_space



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:02:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24376945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millow_space/pseuds/millow_space
Summary: The woods are dark.The woods are dangerous.She sang.The woman sang.
Kudos: 2





	Gourgeist Song

The woods are quiet. 

It's dark outside, but the little girl with the red dress didn't seem to care. It was always dark. Neon mushrooms lit her way, dry sticks cracking under her feet as she skipped along, humming a song.

The woods are not quiet.

The girl with the red dress was far too young, far too little. She hummed lullabies to the spritzee in the air and impidimp on the ground. She didn't need to be a trainer to have friends.

The woods are dark.

She skipped across her rugged path and continued her melody, moss crawling onto the path. The morelull glowed dimly, the ponyta glowed brightly.

The woods are not dark.

She stopped skipping when she noticed someone on the road. The woman's orange hair fell flat around her, except the tuft on her head. The woman's face was dark, except her eerily glowing eyes. 

The woods are dangerous.

The girl began singing uneasily. The woman began singing proudly. The girl began to cry out. The woman began to smile. But the gourgeist wasn't allowed to have its prey.

The woods are dangerous.

Fairy tale princesses can have their happily ever afters, at a price. Normal girls can live another day, at a price.

The woods are not dangerous.

She could hear them. She could hear their wails for their mothers, their wails for their fathers. She could feel their curiosity burning her skin if ever so much as a drop of their water touched her. She could hear them.

The woods are escapable.

The mother packed her daughter's belongings. Clothes, dolls, furniture. The mother could not pack her daughter's secrets. Ghosts, laughter, tangle. She could not stay. Her daughter could not stay.

The woods are escapable.

The mother took her child and packed her. Far away, far away. They left an empty house, they left an empty home.

The woods are escapable.

The child grew. She grew with grace, she grew with calm. She forgot the tangle. She forgot the secrets.

She forgot.

She was drawn to trouble. Memories surfaced, trouble surfaced. She was drawn to curiosity. Far away, far away.

She remembered.

Take the train, take the taxi. She smiled at the dark woods. She sang at the dark woods. Her song was broken. Broken, broken, broken. Ripped apart by fear and time.

The woods are different.

Time has taken tolls. Tolls that were not to be thought of. Time has widened her paths, scared her old friends away. The mushrooms did not glow, and children used flashlights.

The woods are not different.

She stepped into town. She stepped into home. An empty shell, and empty house. A woman waited. The woman's orange hair fell flat around her, except the tuft on her head. The woman's face was dark, except her eerily glowing eyes.

The woman with the red dress sang. The woman with the orange hair sang.


End file.
